Dance with the Devil
by RosyTea
Summary: When Saito and Cho were sent to Yokohama to quell the violence caused by rampant Yakuza, they thought their assignment would be simple and straightforward. However, a mysterious death and newly arrived Oniwabanshu Okashira leads them on an investigation straight into Yokohama's underworld, where a devastating new weapon is for sale to the highest bidder.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own Rurouni Kenshin or Samurai X. If I did, I certainly wouldn't be hanging around here on FFnet, and this story would be published. XD

A/N: Not gonna lie, this is gonna take forever to finish. Hope you enjoy reading!

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><p>Yokohama<p>

September 1879

A solitary light shone in the accounting office of Fischer and Ward's Trading Company. The clock on the wall chimed, drawing the eyes of the man at the head desk away from his work. It was four in the morning, and the man groaned and rolled his aching shoulders.

For a brief moment, he thought of returning home and retiring to bed, but his eyes drifted to the two ledgers and the written notes he made, and the thought disappeared. He feared people were becoming suspicious; he needed to finish this.

He figured he would have another two and a half hours to complete his notes, return the ledgers to their proper place, and leave before the custodians arrived to light the stove and sweep the floor before the other accountants arrived for work.

Dipping his pen into the inkwell, he made a few more notes, flipped to the final pages in one of ledgers, and compared the numbers to those in the second.

"There you are," he smiled and wrote down what he found. "Now I have you Mr.—"

A vice-like hand clamped tight over his mouth, cutting off his words. Something slipped between his lips and down his throat, and at first he was not sure what it was. Whoever was behind him held him place, but they did not speak.

Slowly, the man felt as though his throat and stomach were burning, and the sensation began to intensify rapidly. He thrashed against the person holding him as the pain became unbearable. It seemed a fire had been lit in his stomach and the flames scorched the back of his throat. He began to choke, and soon he could no longer breathe.

His struggles became weaker, and he finally stopped altogether. His assassin then released him and let him fall against the desk.

The assassin's work was not done, however. The figure picked up the notes and one of the ledgers and crossed over to the stove in the corner of the room. They were tossed in, along with a lit match, and the little door was then closed. The other ledger was placed onto the shelf, and the pen put back in its holder beside the inkwell.

Satisfied that the work was complete, the assassin left the room, shutting the door behind them.


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: Since I usually write in my favorite chair, wrapped up in a blanket with a cup of tea, I suggest you read this in a similar manner. Enjoy!

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><p>Perhaps it was intuition, or, just maybe, he spent far too many years surrounded by death and murder, but something about this scene did not sit right with Fujita Goro. The accounting office of Fischer and Ward's Trading Company was too orderly, too pristine for there to be a dead man at the desk.<p>

Twenty or so other desks sat in the elongated room facing the sea. Nothing but pens and inkwells sat atop of them, and the floor surrounding them was clean. All ledgers were in their place on the bookshelves behind the dead man's desk, and a mounted coatrack ran along the wall beside the door. A solitary overcoat and hat hung on one of the pegs.

"He looks like he just keeled over," said Sawagejo Cho, the only other man in the room.

He was standing idly by the deceased man, using his sheathed sword to lift the man's chin from the desk.

"No blood, no obvious signs of injury and his neck doesn't appear to be broken," Cho said, withdrawing his sheath and allowing the man's head to fall back onto the desk with a thud. "You sure we're not wasting our time?"

Fujita let out a thread of smoke after taking a long drawl from the cigarette he held. He did not answer Cho right away, but moved to look at the contents on the desk.

A simple oil lamp, an inkwell and pen, ink blotter, and small notebook sat upon the tabletop. The notebook was the only thing of significance at first, but when Fujita picked it up and flipped through the pages, he found it to be a daily logbook. Worthless.

"This man, whatever his name was, was working on something," Fujita said before taking another puff from his cigarette. "And it sure as hell wasn't this," he dropped the book noisily for emphasis.

Cho looked at the man and the scene surrounding him. Though it seemed he simply dropped dead from some unknown ailment, Cho saw what aroused Fujita's suspicions. The white sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows, and ink stained his fingertips. The pen however, was clean and placed neatly beside the inkwell.

Curious, Cho stepped forward and opened the few drawers on the desk, finding nothing but stacks of unused paper, envelopes, and spare ink.

"There's nothing here," he sighed, then looked at the dead man as if he could provide some answers.

"Of course not," Fujita remarked as he walked over to the only stove in the room.

He knelt and opened the tiny door, finding it slightly warm beneath his glove. It was not hot however, and he was able to dig through the ashes barehanded. After a minute or two, he withdrew his hand, along with a burnt scrap of paper.

The writing was legible despite its condition, but he could not read the letters. It was a western language, English if he was not mistaken. Fujita did determine that it was part of a ledger, given the precise grid lines.

"Start looking through the books on the shelves," he commanded Cho as he stood and tucked the piece of paper into his pocket.

Before either of them could reach any of the account books, the door opened. Fujita and Cho turned to see a flushed faced, balding, heavyset western man with greying beard and mustache standing in the doorway to the accounting room.

With him was a young corporal, one of whom Fujita left to guard the entrance. He figured he must have been someone of importance within the company, as he left strict instructions to allow only certain people in the room.

"Oh my dear Lord," the man breathed in his native tongue as he hastily walked towards the desk, but stopped before he reached it. The man fumbled for a handkerchief in his overcoat pocket as he turned to the two police officers in the room. However, they were not the standard officers the man was accustom to seeing on the streets.

Fujita Goro wore the dark navy uniform as customary for the police, but hanging from his belt was a Japanese sword, not a western saber. Sawagejo Cho likewise carried a katana, or rather several of them. He did not wear a uniform, leaving the western man to question whether he was truly with the police.

"W-what happened here?" he questioned in Japanese, turning his attention back to the dead man on the desk.

"We're trying to figure that out," Fujita replied as he stepped towards him. "Now who are you?"

"I'm Gerard Fischer, one of the owners of the building," he said before pressing his handkerchief to his lips. "The officer outside said that one of my custodians found someone dead in here but, oh my, I did not think…"

"You know who this man is?" Fujita asked, and Gerard nodded.

"His name is Mizushima Akira, he's my auditor," he answered. "This just doesn't make any sense, he was in perfect health!"

Though Fujita seemed uninterested in what the westerner said as he lit another cigarette, he was carefully processing everything he knew so far. A man, who appears to suffer from no known ailments, dies at his desk while working late. However, there is nothing of consequence on his desk, and in the stove are pieces of a burnt ledger.

Clearly, this is the work of an amateur.

"Mr. Fischer, I need to have my men conduct a thorough examination of the room just to make sure that there was no foul play involved," he said.

"F-foul play?" Gerard gasped. "You don't believe dear Mr. Mizushima was murdered do you?"

Fujita certainly thought so, but he did not want anyone he did not know or trust thinking that. Instead, he would play his cards close to his chest and let this man and everyone else in this office building believe otherwise.

"Of course not," he said with a faint grin. "There's nothing to indicate that Mizushima was murdered. The poor man likely suffered a heart attack or something of that nature. I just want to be thorough."

"Yes, yes, certainly so, I have no qualms about that," he returned his handkerchief to his pocket. "The room is at your disposal gentlemen, I shall dismiss my accountants for the day. Please let me know if I can be of any assistance to you."

"You can tell this corporal by the door where Mr. Mizushima lived and of his immediate family and friends," Fujita said. "Perhaps they can tell us if he was acting unusual or was ill immediately before his death."

"Of course," Gerard nodded and went directly to the officer still standing by the door, who then led the man out of the room.

"You don't suppose he knows something?" Cho asked once the westerner left, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"We can't be sure of anything right now," said Fujita. "But we're going through all of these ledgers one by one, and perhaps find what Mizushima was looking at. There is no doubt in my mind he was—"

"Inspector Fujita! Inspector Fujita!" a patrol officer cried as he ran into the room, his face flushed and sweat beading around his hairline. "The Chief Superintendent sent you this," he said as he handed over a missive. "Members of the Daito-kai are causing a commotion in the Benten Dori*."

Fujita cursed and crushed the note after he read it. The Daito-kai was an up and coming criminal organization in Yokohama. Unlike the Yakuza, they were more brazen, destructive, and did not adhere to a code of honor or conduct. Fujita feared half the street would be destroyed by the time the police arrived.

"Cho, stay here and make sure everything is gone through," he commanded as he quickly made his way to the door. "Have the body taken back to the police station, I want him looked over for any signs of poison,"

"Yeah, yeah, I've gotcha covered here," Cho waved, not bothering to hide his displeasure of being left behind when in all likelihood there was a chance of a good fight out there. "Just don't kill anyone without me, okay Saito?"

Saito left the room, making no promises.

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><p>*Benten Dori—one of the main commercial streets in Yokohama's "Native Town".<p> 


	3. Chapter 2

Yokohama was the window to the west, where many of the technological innovations and goods from abroad were imported. Shinomori Aoshi had passed through the port town years ago, and in his absence, the city had become a boomtown.

It was a haven for traders and merchants, selling everything from trinkets to photographs, to liquor and furniture. A mixture of peoples from Europe, America, and Asia walked along the streets, speaking dozens of languages, and wearing all manner of dress.

Yokohama itself was a relative island, surrounded on all sides by water, and devised into the Settlement, the Bluff, and the Native Town. The Settlement was where many of the largest buildings sat, occupied as businesses or offices. The post office, telegraph office, and the city hall building were located here. Also in the Settlement was the Bund, or the street that faced the sea. Here were many mercantile buildings, primarily those who shipped tea.

The Bluff was comprised mainly of western styled houses, with quaint gardens, for the foreigners who resided in the port city. Yet there were also several consulates, a hospital, and athletic grounds in this particular division.

Separated by a wide road and small moat was the Native Town, where the main Japanese commercial quarter resided. The architecture was traditional, as well as the goods sold by vendors. Here was where porcelain, silk, and lacquer ware outnumbered the imported objects.

Even though this time-honored section of the city was meant to guard against the spread of westernization years ago, it was evident that it had been taken over. Like himself, many of the people milling about wore western styled clothing, and spoke in other languages. Innovations such as the oil lamp, camera, bicycle, and sewing machine were commonplace, and had integrated into daily life.

After spending nearly two hours wandering and familiarizing himself with the layout, Aoshi then decided to seek out the person whom he had come to see.

He crossed into one of the main commercial streets, meandering through the crowds and looking for the Momoka restaurant. He knew it was somewhere along the Benten Dori, but the row of businesses on either side was much longer than expected. As Aoshi walked, he noticed a crowd had gathered in the center of the street.

"Why have you been avoiding us, Jiro?" Aoshi heard.

As he passed by the cluster of people, he noted something particular. Those on the street seemed to give the group a wide girth, and walked by in a quickened pace. His curiosity now piqued, Aoshi paused to study the crowd.

They were all men, each dressed in a mixture of western and native attire, and looking down pretentiously at an older man on his knees. Before the man stood the supposed leader of the group. He was young, with long hair pulled into a high ponytail. Resting on his shoulder was sheathed katana.

"Please, Sir Haruto, I will pay back the boss' money next week!" the man said, his faced bowed in the dirt.

"You've been saying that for months now, Jiro," Haruto said, as if chastising a small child. "The boss leant you a considerable amount of money, and he needs it back, _now_."

"B-but I don't have it!"

Haruto seemed unconcerned and motioned to his men. What Aoshi saw made his blood boil. A girl, no older than Misao, was brought into view, her arms tightly held by two of the thugs.

"Papa!" she cried, with a look of absolute terror was upon her face.

"I'll be taking your daughter Jiro," Haruto said. "When you bring the money, you'll get her back."

"Please! No! Not Mariko! She's the only one I have left!" Jiro finally raised his face as he pleaded.

"You don't think I know that?" Haruto smirked then looked to the girl, who was pretty despite having an ugly father. "Besides, she'll be better off with us anyhow."

A loud crack caught both men off-guard, and both thugs holding young Mariko collapsed onto the ground. Now standing behind her was a tall man in a black western suit with a long overcoat and a large canvas bag over his shoulder. He looked to be a businessman, but the frigid glare in his eyes was better suited to an assassin.

Aoshi had never been one to inject himself into a scene such as this, but involving an innocent young girl was low, even for scum. He stepped forward, blocking the older man.

Both Haruto and Aoshi studied one another for several moments. To Aoshi, Haruto looked like a common street brawler: brazen, haughty, and ready to fight. Haruto himself did not know what to think of Aoshi at first. He figured him a lunatic, putting himself in a precarious situation. Yet, he saw there was something dark and dangerous beneath a stoic surface.

"Sir Haruto," one of the men in the circle said softly, inching closer.

They were all visibly enraged and confused. Aoshi's retaliation obviously did not sit well with any of them, but they were unsure how to react given their leader's indifference. Instead of striking out, they resorted to taunts and threats.

"Fool! Do you know who you're messing with?"

"The Daito Kai suffer no such insolence!"

"If you apologize we might not beat you so badly!"

Aoshi remained calm and focused on the leader, who seemed to be the toughest of the group.

"You, why did you do that?" Haruto asked.

"I am not one to stand idly by when scum threaten to kidnap a young woman," Aoshi replied coldly. "If you have business with this man then keep it between the two of you."

Aoshi's command came as more of a threat, but Haruto paid it no mind. Instead, he laughed.

"Kidnap? You truly have no idea what you're involving yourself in," he said. "The only scum here is that old man Jiro right there." Haruto pointed his scabbard in his direction. "Leave, _now_. I will give you this one chance to walk away."

"I will comply," Aoshi began, and Haruto smiled slightly, thinking his business here could go on without further interruption. "But only if you leave the girl out of this."

"You're in no position to bargain, my friend," Haruto snapped. "The girl will be going with us, unless Jiro here can pay us what he owes. And, if you were not listening before, he cannot."

"Then we are at an impasse," said Aoshi.

"No, we're not."

Three of the thugs threw themselves at Aoshi, their arms back and fists balled. They were hoping to strike him, but the Master of the Oniwaban was too quick for such sloppy moves. A hard blow to the jaw took out the first, a kick to the stomach incapacitated the second, and the last received a punch to the nose, which crushed bone and cartilage.

Each collapsed simultaneously, either unconscious or groaning in pain. Aoshi remained cool and collected, but the air around him was tense; the gang around him was infuriated, and just a little bit fearful.

"You're not bad," Haruto grinned as he motioned for more of his men to attack with a wave of his hand.

More rushed at him, but they too fell quickly. None had any finesse or the slightest bit of combat training; their wild swings and inept footwork were evidence to that. Their numbers did nothing to sway the odds either. Aoshi was too fluid, too experienced; his punches, kicks, and throws were precise and devastating against his opponents.

Bodies were thrown into surrounding shops as the fight spilled across the street. Bystanders screamed and ran, dodging the men as they landed in the dirt, bruised, broken, and bleeding.

The numbers began to dwindle, but Aoshi had yet to break a sweat. A closed fist backhand to one thug shattered his cheekbone and broke several teeth. As he dropped, Aoshi spun and slammed his heel into the jaw of another. He purposely aimed for their faces, for such injuries would be more difficult to conceal should any of them escape. It would also serve as a lasting reminder of their actions this day.

Just as he was finishing beating one of the still standing brutes, Haruto ultimately had enough. The few remaining men around him were shaking, and two took off, running away from the street as fast at their legs could carry them. Stepping forward, Haruto drew his sword.

"You're a lot better than expected," he said. "But do not think I am in the same league as they."

Aoshi was unconcerned despite being unarmed. His twin kodachi were packed away in his bag, which lay discarded some distance away. He took up a defensive stance, his hands unclenched and ready to intercept Haruto's blade.

A shrill whistle blow stopped the fight from developing. Shouts of "police" signaled the end of the altercation, and Haruto reluctantly sheathed his sword.

"It appears we'll have to finish this another time," he said as he turned, and with his remaining men, vanished into the crowds.

Aoshi had no notion of following him; instead, he dusted his clothes off and went to retrieve his bag.

"You had best leave," Aoshi said to the girl as the police were pushing their way through the crowd of onlookers that had gathered.

At first she did not respond, Mariko was too mesmerized by the mysterious, handsome stranger who just took on group of the Daito Kai and_ won_. Her father broke the spell that caused Mariko to stare longingly at Aoshi by roughly grabbing her arm and jerking her towards the crowd.

"Let's go!" he commanded, as he pulled his reluctant daughter behind him. "We have to get out of here now!"

"But we did not thank him!" she protested, but Jiro stopped suddenly when several policemen broke through the wall of bystanders.

"You!" one of them shouted, recognizing him. "Yoshida Jiro! You're under arrest!"

Aoshi watched in mild interest as two of the officers apprehended the man and led him away. The girl, thankfully, they paid no mind to. Mariko did not protest when her father was taken, and stepped away from the flood of officers who gathered up the downed yakuza.

Aoshi himself escaped scrutiny for only a short while. He, being the only man standing in the center of the street surrounded by beaten thugs, eventually caught the eye of a wolfish Inspector.

"The hell are you doing here?" Saito Hajime stepped forward, just as surprised to see Aoshi as Aoshi was to see him.

"Business," Aoshi replied curtly as he brushed the dirt off his bag. "Although, here is not the best location for such a conversation."

Saito understood his meaning, and pointed to a vacated store. "Shall we?"


End file.
